


Armitage Hux

by Alice_Marie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Domestic Violence, Early in Canon, F/M, Hux Backstory, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not Happy, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Marie/pseuds/Alice_Marie
Summary: The story of Armitage Hux. From his birth, to the years of training at the Academy to his rise to General of the First Order.Following our own head-canon for Armitage Hux and his childhood - we've taken some creative license. This story serves as a complimentary attachment to our story From The Ashes.





	1. Call me anything but late for dinner!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is a tad grim and dark, as a heads up! 
> 
> A side project to accompany From The Ashes - we hope you enjoy this look into the past of our General Hux!

He was late, as always. She didn't need the servant to tell her that her husband had arrived. Her hand froze, the delicate crystal glass halfway to her lips when she saw him emerge through the sliding timber doors.

"Oh, for kriff's sake..." Disgust dripped from her words, eyes narrowing in distaste as he entered the dining room. He was holding something in his arms and her lip curled into a snarl.

"What is it, Brendol?" She had grown tired of his bizarre trinkets he brought as placating gifts. 

The romance in their relationship had waned - no longer did he try to appease the statuesque woman lounging in her chair, sipping fine alcohol out of the passion in his heart. No, he needed to keep her here, an heiress to a manufacturing empire with enough money to fuel his ambitions. He brought her these sordid things all the while failing to see she had no desire to possess items taken from corpses. Her blue eyes rolled as he approached - the bundle squirmed, making a small noise.

"It's... He's..." Brendol glanced at his wife, something of pride on his face. Her expression darkened. Livid. The glass in her hand shattered as she clenched her fingers into a tight fist.

"If you say it's yours...." She growled, pushing to her feet - the chair rocking from the force of her sudden motion - she leaned forward, smearing blood on the tablecloth as she glowered at him.

"He is my son, Maratelle."

She swore again, seizing her dinner plate and hurled it at him with a beastial scream of rage. He ducked in time, clutching the bundle tighter - a shock of fiery red hair visible just above the fold of blanket. The plate shattered against the wall, her hand reaching forward to seize the bottle of champagne, taking a healthy swig of it before twisting it in her hands.

"You will NOT insult me like this!" She hissed.

"If you had been able to give me a son of my own, perhaps I would not have to go elsewhere!" He roared, his cheeks coloring with his own rage - an ire that rose entirely too easily in the face of her own. She laughed bitterly, blatant loathing written on her delicate features.

"That means you'd have to BE HERE!" She howled the last, sweeping her arm across the table, scattering utensils and blood from the cuts in her palm across the tablecloth, raining them down onto the floor. She pushed the table aside, approaching them with the stalking gait of a true predator. Brendol felt a thrill, still... After all these years... The woman was so... Vibrant, so savage - if only she would have deigned to join him. They could have conquered the galaxy years ago...

But it was not passion on her face any longer, standing before him, swaying lightly on her feet, waving the bottle in his face.

"And that you were SOBER ENOUGH TO FUCK ME!" She spit. He growled low in his throat, lifting a hand to wipe away her saliva.

"ENOUGH, MARATELLE!" He bellowed - there was only so much he would permit, after all. In spite of her efforts to persuade him otherwise - he was the man of this house. She had oathed herself to him as a dutiful wife. To serve and obey!

"Or what?" She baited, taking another long drink. At his pause, she turned and smashed the bottle against the edge of the table, rounding on him with the jagged shard still clutched in her hand. "If you leave it here... I will KILL IT!"

Brendol shook his head. Force help him... He would not tolerate this.... Affront! He pushed her back, she landed heavily against the table, braced on her elbows. He crushed her there, pinning her frame against the table with the weight of his own.

"He's staying.... And you..." His hand smoothed up the side of her neck, "Will NOT touch him... Or it will be you who will die!" His fingers tightened around her throat, holding the boy in one arm. Already her hands were assaulting his wrist, sharp nails raking into his flesh as she gasped for air. Not until her knee found the apex of his thighs was he forced to release her. She pushed past him, screaming obscenities as she retreated to her personal chambers. He could hear the sound of her tantrum as she smashed delicate things to the floor, ripping decorations from the wall.

The boy had begun to stir, squalling. Hungry, probably...

"Hush, boy..." He crooned, making his way to the kitchens to find something to feed him.

 

~

 

The watery afternoon sun was spilling across the foot of her bed by the time Maratelle woke up the following day. She could hear the light spattering of rain against the windowpane. Yet it was overwhelming heat had made her shift, sweat clinging to her limbs, swaddled in the thick blankets. She pushed them off, gingerly. She felt foul, in desperate need of a shower. Her head was pounding. Hung over. Again. That much was not new. The Outer Rim was a rather... Primitive place. It lacked many of the creature comforts to which she had been accustomed to. Drinking helped to fill in the days, passing the time. And endless march towards a destination she could not guess. Only that she knew the drink made it easier to forget her loneliness - society here was less.... Refined. Plus, the alcohol stifled the many regrets that had sprung up in the wake of making this move. 

She felt pressure rising in her chest, bringing herself to belch as she sat up. Slowly, head spinning. It wasn't always like this, she tried to tell herself. Her throat hurt. Ah.... Yes... That's right, she thought glumly, getting to her feet and padded over to the vanity in the corner of the over-sized bedroom. Far too large for its usually single occupant but even when her husband was home, he seldom earned the right to join her in her decadent sleeping chamber. 

That rutting wampa, Brendol! She seethed, checking her pale throat in the mirror's reflection - his fingerprints stood out like red brands seared into her flesh. She'd have to wear a scarf for days, though she didn't know why she bothered anymore. Let Brendol's reputation suffer - he was a beast so he may as well be known as one! She growled, rubbing the bridge of her nose... Of course, if he truly had attempted to strangle her...That meant... That bastard child wasn't just a figment of her drunken imagination! Was it still here or did he take it away?

She was out of her room in an instant, hurtling down the hallway and down the grand staircase. Her head pounded like a stampede of tauntauns were loosed in her skull with every step. So beset by her outrage, she hadn't stopped to consider her appearance. Her pale red-blonde hair disheveled more than half unloosed from its braid. The nearly translucent nightgown, that she couldn't recall changing into, hung from her shoulders, nearly bearing her breasts for the world to see. Only it wasn't the entire world. Just... Brendol in the foyer talking to some man, a slender girl... No, young woman - barely more than a girl standing beside him. 

"What in the hells is this?" She clutched at the railing, knuckles turning white - she could guess yet she had truly hoped that her recollection had been skewed. That her rotten useless husband wouldn't be so damn bold and foolish to do this to her! Yet, she could barely deny the evidence presented to her. The girl was a younger... Possibly more beautiful replica of herself. Her expression darkened, a crimson flush of rage spotting on her cheeks as Brendol shoved a bag of credits towards the man, pushing him out the door. 

"None of your concern, Maratelle." He sounded tired. Dark rims of sleeplessness under his eyes. That rat probably kept screaming all night, keeping him awake. Good! Let him suffer for... The whole thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Not only had he had an affair... CHEATING on HER, MARATELLE! But the disloyal union had brought a bastard into this world! Nine months that abomination had grown in this girl's belly! 

"N-none of my concern?" She sounded incredulous, eyes bulging with outrage. "LIKE HELL IT ISN'T!" She shrieked - hands grabbing for something, anything... An ornamental vase was in her grasp in a moment - she hurled it to the floor below with a heated scream, it shattered, scattering all over the marble floor as she took another couple menacing steps further down the stairs. The girl flinched, turning half away - she looked absolutely miserable but it failed to inspire even a smidgen of sympathy from the enraged woman on the stairs. 

"Maratelle... Calm yourself," There was a threat in his tone as he moved to step between her and his pathetic little whore. "The boy needs to eat..." 

She snorted derisively. Wouldn't need to eat if she shoved it into a flour sack and threw it in the garden fountain! She was on the ground level with them now, stalking closer, feet moving over the broken pieces of the vase. If she felt their slicing edges she didn't seem to show it.

"So, what... Did he tell you he was married?" She stood before the girl, peering down into her face. Had he picked her so that the child would 'match' or was it just a coincidence? Her nose wrinkled, lip curling in disgust. She rose her hand to strike the young face looking up at her but Brendol caught her wrist, shaking his head. The grip he used was not gentle, it solicited a sound of pain from her lips as she winced.

"Yes, ma'am." The girl replied, looking down at her feet. Maratelle laughed, it was a bitter sound. 

"Oh, that's rich!" She growled up at Brendol, jerking her hand free. "She's not staying. Neither is that... That thing!" She hissed. He was unhooking something from his belt, a blaster. Her heart began to beat with a more chaotic rhythm than before. He wouldn't dare....

"I didn't have a choice, ma'am." She was silenced by a rather violent shove, Brendol staring at her incredulously. Nevertheless, the he let the words sink in for a long moment, raising the blaster to his wife's chest, the circular metal ring cold against her exposed skin. Her eyes widened a fraction. 

"Neither do you." His tone was leaden. 

She felt ill, glancing from the blaster to the young woman and finally back to Brendol. The laughter that left her lips was filthy. Disbelieving and yet... Murderer... Why not add this ripe cherry to the top of the list of defining features of her despicable husband! 

"Charming, Brendol! That's just the sweetest fracking thing I've heard from you in a long damn time!" If she had any doubt before, this could only seal the fact that she hated him. Loathed him! If only everything she owned wasn't tied up in his stupid pipe dream of galactic dominion! How dare her father agree to this! This... Lying, thieving, snake!!!

"I hope you can manage without your allowance this month!" She spat at his feet, shoving him back with all of her might - a motion he hadn't been prepared for - he slipped on a piece of broken porcelain and fell back - his elbow breaking through the frosted glass of their front door. He swore, howling in pain as he ripped his arm back, blood drenching the sleeve of his uniform. The girl gasped in shock, hands lifting to cover her mouth as she stared, aghast at their behavior. Maratelle cast her a scathing look. She'd seen nothing yet. Neither had Brendol, for that matter...

"I hope it gets infected! Imagine how much more sporting it will be to catch your victims if you only have one arm!" She hissed, storming off into the adjacent waiting room - screaming for the servants. Not, Brendol noted, for summoning a medkit but rather to fetch her something to eat. He could see her moving towards the drink cabinet, selecting a heavy crystal decanter of some very aged whiskey. She pulled the stopper free, wandering out of sight. Hadn't even bothered with a glass...

With a huffed insult under his breath, Brendol stormed off. 


	2. Twas a Dark and Stormy Night...

The young woman stood in the foyer, listlessly like a ghost caught between one world and the next. Clutched tightly in her hands were the straps of her bag - holding the few meager possessions she owned. There was a flurry of activity around her but it seemed no one was keen to pay the wisp any mind at all. She didn't want to wander off into their domain without being invited. Already, she had a great deal of fears and concerns. It seemed like hours before a single servant approached her, finally, holding a bundle in his arms.

"Are you... Elissa?" He paused, uncertain. The bundle of blankets was stirring, hungry cries streaming from tiny lips as little hands grasped in the air, searching for food. She nodded, tears springing to her eyes as she dropped her bag, reaching out for her baby. She'd barely seen the little one... All she knew was that the child had been taken in the night, she'd hadn't even gotten to hold... She realized she didn't even know the gender. Delivery had been... Taxing, to say the least. Were it not for the excellent medical staff bearing the insignia of the First Order, she would have been lost in childbirth, of that, she had little doubt.

"Oh!" She breathed, cradling the warm little bundle in her arms. She stared down in wonder. A tiny, perfect little boy! Her chest felt about a thousand times too small for her heart, it seemed to swell at the sight of him.

"Come on then, I'll show you to your room." He stooped to collect her bag, leading her through a narrow hallway into the servant's quarters. When Brendol had mentioned bringing on a new kitchen maid... The rest of the serving staff all decided it'd be best if she kept out of the main house. Maratelle was a volatile woman with a delicate disposition. Delicate, not as a budding flower but delicate as a hand grenade with a loosened pin.

She hastened to follow after him, the young man with a kindly face, offering soothing noises to the baby, her hand gently smoothing over the back of his head - the crown of which was already covered in the softest of peach fuzz, a vibrant orange. She couldn't help but smile down at him, feeling pride blossom in her heart - for all her misgivings... For the way his life had been authored... He was a beautiful miracle! How could anything so pure and lovely as he be made from such a horrendous act? Yet there he was...

The 'room' was barely more than a supply closet. Not even a window. Only a narrow bed and a small chest shoved into the corner. A dimly flickering light bulb illuminated the small space. Her heart sank. If anything was to give her an indication of how the next several months would go... It was this.

"Look, it's... It's not much..." He looked deeply and genuinely apologetic and somewhat distressed, though that could largely have been from the child's hungry cries. She nodded, offering a small, placating smile. Of course it wasn't much. She hadn't really expected it to be. Brendol never offered to look after her, never promised her compensation... Only that he checked on her every week to ensure she was healthy and still pregnant. Bearing his bastard had given her no extra entitlements. Only the scorn of almost everyone she seemed to encounter. As if they could tell what had happened simply from looking at her. Nursing the boy, she suspected, would be a task he had automatically assumed she should do. And after that... She couldn't even begin to imagine. Would she survive to her nineteenth birthday? More worrying was the question of if the boy would survive to his first. Maratelle was as terrifying as her husband. Horrible creatures, both of them!

"It's alright." She assured the man, softly. She gently bounced the babe in her arms, trying to quieten him. She shifted her weight, restlessly, hoping he would leave her soon so she could attend the squalling child.

"I'll... I'll see if I can't... Organize something else." He stammered, setting her bag down just inside the door.

"Don't worry." She tried to persuade him. Hesitantly, he offered her a quick nod, muttering something about needing to get back to work. He hurried off.

Just as well...

She slid the door closed, settling on the bed and hastened to nurse her son. No. Not her son. She was not so delusional to think that she would be allowed to keep him... Brendol wanted an heir, so he had told her. Their exchanges far from the pillow talk of lovers. She pushed the acrid thoughts away, focusing instead on the dear, sweet, child... Eyes, so blue! She marveled at his tiny hands with perfect little fingernails! She could scarcely believe that she had... Made this little human! She was smitten. Hopelessly and completely in love with the precious bundle.

It was then that she'd begun to cry in earnest, knowing she could no sooner part with him than she could part with her own heart and survive... Dread settled into her gut as she held the little boy close, leaning to plant a soft kiss to his head. Having been fed, he seemed content to snooze. He was warm and surprisingly heavy for how small he was.

~

The boy's cries woke her, blearily she registered that a note had been left on her pillow. The thought was disturbing, that there had been someone in this small room without her having noticed!

She hastened to feed the boy, flipping the light on to examine the letter.

 

_I'm away for the next three weeks._   
_I've named him Armitage. You must ensure his safety and well being._   
_If my wife harms him, you are to contact me immediately._   
_-B_

  
The rest of the day passed uneasily. She asked if she could take Armitage outside but the request was denied on the grounds that the clouds had settled in, that it would rain soon.

~

Elissa awoke with a start. Something was wrong. She couldn't shake the sensation of something of sinister.The shadows shifted at the end of her bed, she realized the door was slid open. Someone was in here! Her heart began to race - it was a setting that was all too familiar. Oh, please, no! She scooped her son's tiny form to her side, protectively wrapping an arm around him.

"N-no!" She protested, but the hand that reached out and seized her arm was not Brendol's. The grip, while strong, was not of a hand nearly large enough to be that brute! She could feel sharp points of fingernails digging into her arm and she made another sound of fright.

"Be quiet! Get up!" Maratelle's voice cut through the silence. It'd taken her two days to find where they had stashed the little tart! Elissa moved to sit up, still trying to hold Armitage against her chest.

"Leave it!" The woman hissed, tightening her grip. She could detect the shape of a face before her own. She could smell alcohol on her breath, it turned her stomach. Vile, evil stuff! She wished such a thing had never been created, it made beasts out of even the most tame of souls, given enough of it. She was fearful - knowing very much that it loosened the restraints of reason and lowered inhibitions.

"It's... Not safe t-" A crack of flesh upon flesh. Something bit into her cheek - the ring on the back of Maratelle's hand, perhaps. She gasped in pain, the side of her face felt like it had erupted in flame. It hardly mattered in the face of knowing what could befall her son once this wicked woman was finished with her!

"I don't care!"

She was pulled from the tiny room. Elissa felt a chill creeping up her bare toes as they moved quickly through the house. Was anyone else awake? Would it even matter? She was yet to see anyone stand up to Brendol or Maratelle. She couldn't understand it, how any of them could bear to stay in this monolithic mansion with these two horrid people!

And yet, she could... Life in the Outer Rim wasn't easy. Most of the poor souls out here couldn't remember a time or a life away from its desolate reaches. Many succumbing to spice addictions and a lawless way of life. It was little wonder that the First Order was gaining traction out here. Order, structure... Legitimate employment. For those who enlisted as combatants - lodgings, food. Elissa has been no different - attracted by an industry that appeared to boast legitimacy, she'd gained employment in the cafeterias. Cooking, cleaning... It beat the alternatives - making her living on her back and falling prey to the influences of alcohol and crippling drug addiction...

Outside, the rain poured down, the sky seemed to shake with Maratelle's rage - blinding flashes of light followed by thunder that rattled the glass of the windows surrounding them. Up the stairs, down a hallway... She'd never been to this wing of the house. All she knew was fear - Armitage, left alone... Her concerns for herself were far less... Prominent. She'd understood the meaning of Brendol's letter. Her life for Armitage's if it came to it. But it did not making facing one's death all that much easier. Especially knowing that if she perished, there would be no one who cared enough about little Armi to take care of him. Not for weeks yet. And even then - Brendol was no better suited to fatherhood than he was apparently suited to being a loyal and faithful husband.

Maratelle shoved her against the door. Her head met the wood with a fearful crack. She blinked, barely registering that Maratelle's hand was fumbling with the handle, pushing them through. It was Brendol's room. If such a claim could be made for a man that rarely inhabited it! Maratelle threw her down to the ground as she stalked into the ensuite, flicking lights on as she went. Shivering, Elissa huddled on the floor, casting her light eyes around the room with abstract terror. Why was she being brought here? She swallowed hard, trying to gather her wits about her. A futile gesture, her efforts undone the moment Maratelle reappeared, swaying on her feet.

She looked a wraith. A flush over her nose and cheeks - her eyes reddened. Possibly from tears but more likely from the alcohol and lack of sleep. More terrifying was the straight blade razor held in her shaking hands.

"P-please..." She wasn't too good to beg.

"Pleeeeease!" Maratelle shrieked, mocking her as she staggered closer. "You sound like a drowning cat!" She was standing behind her. A fact that made her even more afraid, yet she didn't dare turn to face her. She closed her eyes, trying to hold in the hiccuping sobs straining to escape her shivering form. Over and over, she begged whatever forces were in the universe that she might survive, long enough, at least for Armitage to be able take care of himself, so he wasn't so literally dependent... Though that seemed a stretch. Tears slipped from her tightly shut eyes.

She felt a hand fisting in her hair, the bite of the razor against her scalp. She froze, her chest heaving - oh gods!!! Maratelle's unsteady hands began to make quick work of her hair, thick crimson strands falling to the floor in matted fistfuls. All the while she was spewing vile insults. Her jealousy never more clearly pronounced as in that moment - determined to take away any beauty she may have possessed - see if anyone wanted her ever again! If only the woman had been able to hear or see reason! Elissa never wanted anyone to want her ever again! She had no designs on her ghastly husband, she wanted no piece of this rotten life! She just...

She could not restrain the scream as Maratelle's perception failed her and she cut deeply into her flesh. If the drunken woman cared that the girl's blood was now dripping into the carpets, she certainly didn't show it, determined to finish her cruel task. Only after she was completely shaven and her head a cross hatch of bloody wounds did Maratelle release her, stumbling from the room - yelling at Brendol. Brendol who was not even here!

Could sh- was she allowed to move? Elissa had been stricken into a frozen, horrified silence. She heard something heavy collide with something else, the scrape of wood across the floor. Had she stumbled into a piece of furniture? A vile slew of expletives filled the silence, feral screams like two alley cats fighting. A good indicator that the woman of the house was slipping deeper into the belly of the mansion. Elissa exhaled, gathering her wits - scrambling to her feet. Her only wish now, was to get back to Armitage - to ensure he hadn't fallen out of the bed or rolled over! Panic spurred her into action, flying back down the hallways, hoping she wasn't getting lost in the labyrinthine twist of the house.

It wasn't until she found her way back to her tiny room, with Armitage held in her arms that she finally allowed herself to cry, her tears matching the heavy rain still pouring down from the dark sky.


End file.
